


Requiem for the Fallen

by Embracingtheplotbunnies



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire, game of thrones
Genre: Ever - Freeform, Game of Thrones spoilers, Gen, Grief, Jonerys, Lots of Angst, are we still tagging that on ao3 or is it just on tumblr?, because I will never be over this episode, episode 6 spoilers, post episode 6, snowstorm, viserion deserves better
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-20
Updated: 2017-08-20
Packaged: 2018-12-17 18:58:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11857662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Embracingtheplotbunnies/pseuds/Embracingtheplotbunnies
Summary: SPOILERS FOR 7x06!She loved all of her children, of course, but Viserion was special-and now she can't even bury him.*Lots of angst*





	Requiem for the Fallen

**Author's Note:**

> Per popular request, I've decided to start putting my fics from tumblr on here (because the tag needs more Jonerys fics). 
> 
> This one's sad. I won't even pretend it's not designed to be as painful as possible because I wrote it to deal with Viserion's death in an attempt to flesh him out and make myself even sadder. 
> 
> I've seen parts of the leaks (I've seen his death scene) but I'm still sooo not ready to see it tonight. My heart is breaking; Viserion was always my favorite dragon. 
> 
> On tumblr at blue-roses-in-a-wall-of-ice . I write lots and lots of Jonerys fics and take prompts! 
> 
> Good luck tonight, everyone. I know I'll need it.

She should have said that she loved them. She shouldn’t have forced them to go. Jon had been the only thing on her mind and she hadn’t even thought it would be a problem. The dragons breathed fire; what difference could snow and ice make to them? She’d never considered, never even contemplated...and now it seemed ridiculous that she hadn’t. 

By rushing to save him she’d lost something precious, something that she could never get back. And it was her fault. 

The worst thing was, she couldn’t even remember the last thing that she’d said to Viserion. The flight from Dragonstone had been a whirl of activity and she didn’t remember what she’d said to anyone, but somehow it seemed vital that she remember-as if by remembering the last thing she said to him, she could somehow bring him back. 

What kind of mother left her child to die?

Now there was nothing left of him to bury. 

 

She loved all of her dragons, of course. They each had their own separate personalities-Drogon was the largest and the fiercest, barely controlled even by her; Rhaegal was always looking for love and attention, always feeling like the outcast. But Viserion was her sweet dragon; the one who would never bite her, the one who would always wrestle with his brothers good naturedly but took care not to hurt them-even if it meant he didn’t win. He was, in her opinion, the most handsome of all of her dragons; she loved watching him fly around at sundown, when the sun glittering off his scales would flash a brilliant gold. 

He knew he wasn’t the fastest or the strongest, but he was the emotional center of the three-and his brothers were fiercely protective of him. Though they would pick on him sometimes, good naturedly, they always made sure he got fed-and if someone happened to insult him, they would go off explosively and it was all she could do to stop them. 

Sometimes on the road to Qarth, when the dragons were still babies, she would let him sleep on her chest at night. He would cry out for her, high pitched mewling cries like those of a kitten, until she would take him inside the shade of her makeshift tent and he would cuddle up just above her heart. She never worried that he would attack her in the middle of the night; she trusted him, more than she trusted any of the others. 

He’d been named after her brother Viserys-but he was as unlike Viserys as it was possible to be, aside from his brilliant cream coloring. Where her brother had been vicious and cruel, Viserion was always quiet and observant-content to watch from a distance where his brothers would always throw themselves into the fray to explore. And she loved him, dearly. He was her gentle one, her sweet boy. 

Of course, he was fierce. He was a dragon after all, and he would threaten anyone who desired her harm. His loyalty ran even deeper than Drogon’s, and even as he got older he would still come to her for attention. He always wanted to be by her side, always brought back presents for her in the form of fish or small animals, and never minded when she scratched the smooth scales under his chin. They had an understanding, her and him; he could be reasoned with, controlled; an eqaul. 

And it had hurt to see him in chains. She knew that he and Rhaegal hadn’t burned a child, but she’d had to do something. She’d had to make some kind of sacrifice to appease the former masters, but it still felt like a betrayal of their trust, of their love. They’d followed her into the dungeon so trustingly, never even noticing the chains until she’d snapped them shut around their necks. Once they’d realized what was going on, of course, they’d been furious-but the look in Viserion’s eyes had been one of deepest betrayal and she’d cried about it for hours later. Mother of monsters, some called her. But Viserion had never been a monster. Not once. 

The next time she saw him, he barely seemed to know her. Thinking back on it, she should have thought it obvious; she’d locked him in chains, locked him away in the dark with only his brother for company. But he was savage- and for a moment, just a moment, she thought he would try to eat her. And she’d been frightened of him. Her gentle dragon, who had slept by her side for months and never harmed so much as a hair on her head. 

She’d hated the masters more then than she ever had before, because they had turned her own children against her. 

Even though she’d rescued them, none of them-even Drogon- had ever treated her quite the same. Their love was tainted and hesitant, as if any moment they feared she would betray them again. She expected nothing less of them, but it still hurt when she tried to pet them sometimes and they shied away for a moment as if doubting her intentions. 

And Viserion...he was no longer hers. He spent all of his time with his brothers. He flew just as far as them, just as fast; he fought with them just as savagely. He responded to her calls with some reluctance and she could never look at him without thinking of her mistakes. 

But occasionally he would be affectionate again and she would see some of the baby dragon he had once been deep inside of him. He had a knack for knowing when she was sad or lonely, hurt or afraid. When she and Drogon had landed after the battle with the Lannisters, he had rushed to meet them. She’d gotten the strangest feeling he’d been inspecting them, looking for injuries-he’d nosed Drogon once or twice until the black dragon snapped at him. And then he’d nosed her, and he hadn’t minded when she put her arms around his neck and squeezed him tightly. He wasn’t as big as Drogon and he never overwhelmed her with his sheer size; his tail had beat with pleasure until she’d finally let him go and he’d almost been the dragon he was before. 

She should never have brought him with her because he wasn’t good on the battlefield. He did his best, of course, but she knew that he became scared and skittish around all of the noise and blood. He’d never acquired the taste for flesh that his brothers did and he always hung back slightly whenever they were torching buildings or sinking ships. He was made for flying, soaring high above the castle ramparts and doing tricks in the air that defied imagination. She often wished sometimes that she could ride him on one of his nightly rides, but she knew she never could because a dragon could only have one rider at a time. 

But she’d known that Jon had needed all the help he could get. So she’d yelled at Viserion in High Valyrian until the dragon finally followed them, heading north like an arrow. 

She’d signed his death warrant then. She just hadn’t known it yet. 

When had been the last time she’d told him that she loved him? 

She’d thought he would cry out as he fell, the spear of ice blooming from his side like an ugly growth. But he didn’t; he’d only looked at her once, pleading, as if begging her to help him, to save him the way she had more times than she could count. Surely this would be like the House of the Undying, like Meereen, when she would save him when he needed it the most. 

But she couldn’t. She’d been too late. And he’d died alone, in a frozen lake. She hadn’t even been able to go back and get him because they’d had to leave in a hurry, and she couldn’t risk losing someone else. 

What kind of mother let their children die alone? 

In that moment, the last time he’d locked eyes with her, she’d seen that baby dragon again-newly hatched and feeding off of her breast milk, always cautious and always gentle. Maybe he wasn’t the first to fly, or the first to learn how to breathe fire but he was the sweetest, the gentlest, the kindest. 

She feared she hadn’t loved him enough, like perhaps extra love could have kept him from his fate. 

Drogon had keened long and loud for his dead brother, and Dany hadn’t known how to comfort him because she was being destroyed, her insides slowly torn apart. The Night King had managed to wound her, though he’d never so much as touched her. He’d taken away the thing she held most dear, in all the world. She loved Drogon and Rhaegal of course, but Viserion was her treasure. 

He was the brother she remembered, the one who would use a few of their precious coins to buy her a name day present or put on a puppet show for her when she woke screaming from nightmares. So in a way she’d been right to name him after her brother-he’d been the brother she remembered, the brother she wished she could have known for longer. 

And now he was gone, forever. He would never come back-never perform his acrobatics, never catch fish off the side of the boat, never ruffle her hair with his hot breath. The spark that had made him so wonderful, so full of life, had disappeared, drowned in the snow. 

She'd promised to avenge him. It had been the only thing she'd thought as she’d flown away, the only thing that kept her going as she’d tried to sleep that night, and cried so many times in the days to come that she ran out of tears.

 

“They’re beautiful creatures,” he says. He means it this time. She can tell. 

They stand on the deck of the ship watching Drogon and Rhaegal soar above the boat. But their movements are sluggish and sad. They haven’t been the same since their brother died. Neither has she. 

Neither has anyone. 

She nods. “Yes they are.” 

Less beautiful now, because there’s one missing. There’s a permanent spot next to them where Viserion will never fly. 

There’s a permanent hole in her heart that he will never be able to fix.


End file.
